


Little Bit of Retail Love

by Aeolist



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeolist/pseuds/Aeolist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Challenge fic. Prompt: He sat down, pointed at my Converse and said "I have the same shoes." I thought "I'm going to have sex with you by the end of the night."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Bit of Retail Love

It had been indisputably necessary to go shopping when he’d first gotten to Pete’s World. Rose just wasn’t expecting that he’d like it so much.  
  
The first time, she tagged along, liberally handing out compliments every time he tried something on. He beamed and preened (he always did have an ego, but it almost seemed the human in him brought it out even more) and even did a little twirl or two.  
  
Although he tried on the jeans, the t-shirts, the polos; and although they came home with far more bundles than she’d expected; all his purchases were suits, oxfords, socks, pants… His tastes hadn’t changed, not really, unless she counted the addition of blue which, clearly, had happened before they were reunited. He seemed almost apologetic  in the store, thrusting the casual wear back at the clerk with a helpless sort of shrug.  
  
“Why should your clothes change? You’re the same man. Besides, you always did look great in a suit.”  
  
She gave him a cheeky grin and he nearly fumbled grabbing the bags from the cashier, his eyes fixing on her, warming, and narrowing just slightly in eager assessment. Which was a gorgeous look for him, except he was definitely holding up the line.  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
She rolled her eyes, smiling, and dragging him out of the department store, bags hitting him lightly in the shins as she leaned a little too much weight on him. Nothing could’ve felt better. “C’mon, then.”  
  
That night, she kissed him again. Softly and sweetly and it was over a little too quickly for both of them. But she smiled even as her cheeks heated up, running to the kitchen to grab a pair of shears so she could start cutting the tags off his new clothes.  
  
After that, he kept up at the shopping. Only, now sorted just fine himself, he started buying things for her.  
  
-  
  
First, it was a pair of sunglasses, handed to her one morning as they headed out of their new apartment and she squinted, just slightly, against the sun.  
  
(“The sun’s emitting at least 135 watts per square foot here, Rose. Our old sun was only 130. Doesn’t affect me - still part Time Lord and all - but over the course of a one-hundred-percent-human lifetime, that’s a fifteen percent greater likelihood of developing cataracts. Can’t have that. Oh, and don’t forget the SPF.”)  
  
They were actually pretty cute. Designer, even, though she was sure he had no idea about designers in any universe, let alone this one.  
  
That night they sat down on the sofa, Chinese takeout in front of them, watching telly and discussing the differences between the Top Gears of each universe (Jason Dawe had stayed on for three seasons in Pete’s World, much to the Doctor’s chagrin).  Somehow, Rose offering the Doctor a bite of her eggroll led to snogging on the sofa for half an hour and by the time they got to the lo mein, the food had gone cold.  
  
-  
  
Then it was a blouse - soft and pale green, left on her bed with a little note. He was only over in the next room when she found it, and she wondered briefly if he might actually be feeling too shy to give it to her directly. The note neither confirmed nor denied that particular theory.  
  
(“Thought it would look nice with your eyes.”)  
  
She put it on immediately, traipsing into the lounge without even checking the mirror to see if she liked it. She already knew that she did.  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
He looked up at her from his seat on the sofa (where he was busy performing surgery on the remote control) and his face split into a wide grin. Hers was just as big.  
  
“I was right, of course. Brilliant, me.”  
  
Late that night, mindlessly watching infomercials, she ended up with his head in her lap, gently scratching at his scalp as he all but purred. His long legs were pulled close to his chest so they’d both fit on the sofa and he had one hand on her knee. Eventually, unable to hold back, she yawned, big and loud. He turned his head just slightly, glancing up at her.  
  
“Tired?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
He sat up, lifting his hand from her knee, patting his hair a bit to figure out what it must look like after being thoroughly mussed by Rose’s hands, and letting out a yawn himself.  
  
She stood and he fought back a pang of disappointment. He needed more sleep, now, but still found the nights without her much too long.  
  
“C’mon.”  
  
She grabbed his hand, pulling him along through the hallway and into her bedroom.    
  
He fell asleep and woke up in the same position, cuddled up against her, legs tangled, her hair in his face, one arm slung low over her hip. It was the best night’s sleep of his life (so far).  
  
-  
  
Finally, it was a pair of red Chucks. His trainers, and hers too, had been utterly ruined by the latest Torchwood mission (the first one he’d consulted on, as a matter of fact, saving the day against all odds in exactly the Doctorish fashion she’d missed for years). There had been slime. Well, alien mucus, to be exact. Quite a lot of it. Apparently harmless, but really, really disgusting.  
  
Shutting the door of their apartment behind him, he looked Rose up and down. She was covered in it.  
  
“This isn’t a half-bad look for you, you know.”  
  
She huffed at the utterly irritating smile on his lips. (He was covered in far less slime than she was. She could only imagine his reaction if his hair were saturated with it.)  
  
“You have no idea how many washes it’s going to take to get my hair clean.” She frowned. “I dunno either, honestly. You’d better take the first shower.”  
  
“Really, this would be considered the epitome of beauty on at least five different planets I can think of off the top of my head. Ooh, make that six. Wait. Seven.”  
  
“Get! Before I change my mind.”  
  
He looked her up and down appreciatively one last time, heading for the bathroom.  
  
His shower was just a little bit longer than normal. Hers was much, much longer. It took four washes before her hair felt like hair instead of like slippery, oily, snotty nastiness. By the time she was out, there they were: pristine, new red Chucks sitting next to her ruined old trainers.  
  
“Rose!” he shouted from the lounge. “Get dressed and let’s go get some chips!”  
  
“Just a mo!”  
  
It was just a bit more than that when he knocked on her bedroom door. She was lacing up her new trainers, trying to figure out whether it made more sense to lace them all the way to the top or to tie them at the start of her ankle like a regular shoe. It seemed like it was too tight one way and too loose the other.  
  
“Come in!”  
  
Surely he’d be able to offer some (no doubt detailed) advice on the subject.  
  
He opened the door cautiously, peeking his head in, and lighting up with enthusiasm as he saw her playing with the laces.  
  
He sat down next to her, pointed at her Converse, and said, “I have the same shoes.” He wiggled his feet at her.  
  
She laughed despite herself. Suddenly, her night’s post-chips plans were crystal clear.


End file.
